


:reset

by Deirdreh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Characters getting triggered, Elements of Endgame and Thor: The Dark World, Eventual Smut, Fractured Avengers but trying, Heavy Angst with a happy ending... I promise, Internalized Fantastic Racism, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Thor (Marvel), Single Sex Jotnar, Slow Burn, Thor!IW/Loki!A1, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deirdreh/pseuds/Deirdreh
Summary: “This day, the next, a hundred years is nothing. It’s a heartbeat.”In which the clock never stops, the countdown to zero is relentless and time is the answer, the wound and the cure. Even if it means go all the way back to start again.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 112
Collections: Thorki Big Bang 2019





	1. Press Replay to begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navin/gifts).

> So here we go. I want to thank Misari, without her all this would be a mess (luv ily💗), and Juls that made this awesome art for the fic 💖: https://twitter.com/deerest_ewe/status/1199890199158747136?s=21  
Also this fic was inspired by Navin, so I’m gifting it to her ❤️  
Hope you all enjoy it!

**-22.**

It ends as it began; with the ferocity and the implausibility of a strike. 

It happens all so fast that it doesn’t feel real, it’s like not being there. But that doesn’t make sense at all. It is real, he’s there. He can feel it in the form of pain; his whole body aches, though that’s something he has become used to. And also in form of sounds, actions, decisions taken, fire, violence, screams, adrenaline, death, pain, something akin to pleasure. 

And then it goes silence, again.   
Like being deprived of his sense in the middle of the battlefield, but not quite that much. 

It’s hilarious how two opposite things can coexist at the same time, in the same space, in the same body, almost delirious.

But the silence is real and absolute; it infects the air and wraps around his body. The pain is real too, more like a constant echo of a scream and all over his limbs, his torso, his neck, his mind, so constant and real that’s almost imperceptible.

Nevertheless Loki does not let himself be overwhelmed by the situation, he plays along with it. The same way as he always has done. So he mocks, does his little sharp comments and then laughs of _them_, of these dull creatures. Do they think themselves worthy? They must. What a joke. 

Even with the chains around his wrist and ankles. And even when the Odinson puts that muzzle on him to try to silence him, a weak attempt, so then he changes the play. He remains flexible and he remains a trickster. 

Even after they arrive on Asgard and Thor looks at him, with those pathetic eyes, still looking for something familiar, a tender spot to chew. And oh that’s so classic of an Odinson. Hasn’t he realized how easily Loki can read him? Like a boring book that he hasn’t read but already knows exactly what it’s about. How usual of him, how sentimental, how _weak_. Must be painful. And then when he thinks Thor is going to do something even more stupid and sentimental, he tears the muzzle away. 

The silence remains, Thor’s gaze remains, just for a moment, and then he leaves Loki alone.   
How thoughtful of him, Loki thinks, straightens his back, grins and lets the Einherjar lead his way. 

And so he keeps playing along even when he’s put in front of the All-Father and his omnipotent judgement. He doesn’t look M–Lady Frigga’s eyes much too longer, something stings inside him, something will burn him if he does. Even so Lady Frigga doesn’t stay; she too does not seem to be able to endure his presence. Loki knows this for the way she just obeys the All-Father’s order to leave them alone. And oh she has always known better, she has always been this thoughtful. –After all, her son had to learn that from someone. And it would not be from his father, of course. – Very well then, it would be more fun for him.

The boring chitchat they share is all what Loki has expected of that old man sitting on the golden throne of the nine realms. It’s almost hilarious; that same throne is built with the ancient bones and blood of all those who hadn’t the clarity of understanding the so benevolent actions of the All-Father. And now he’s sitting there above all that, judging Loki for just trying to follow the familiar tradition. Or is just that what bothers the king? _Oh-oh_

“Your birthright was to die,” he spits. “If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.” 

And Loki feels oh so grateful, how generous of him, how merciful. It melts his frost heart. The fact that the noble Odin-King had a moment of goodness and then proceed to steal another relic to shelter it in his collection’s room as another memento of his endless humility. How rude of Loki not being grateful for life and dedicate it to blindly adore and kneel, accept every word and order, and do exactly as the All-Father tells him to. Almost as if he were an obedient, domesticated beast that sits and attacks when it is told to do so.

There’s not much of interesting from this point on. He is sentenced to pass his eternity getting bored to death, rotting and caged like the disobedient beast he has always been. A certainly unexpected gift or charity from Lady Frigga, and as it seems he would not be able to let her known about his endless gratitude, or doubts, or complains. Then he is taken to his new not-so-sweet not-so-home and, again, he is left by himself… _Finally_. 

He takes a look for the place and there’s not much to see, in fact there’s just a single bed not very showy, it looks more like a litter. He has had worse but that doesn’t stop his irritation and the feeling of being somewhat mocked. So he sits there and waits to see how longer this said eternity really is.

**.  
-21.**

Days pass and they become weeks, and so they become a whole month. The hours are long and merciless, boredom can be endless when there’s little to do and even his own mind wears down, thoughts becoming vain and futile. 

It’s a kind of emptiness he knows well. And the fact that he knows, it doesn’t make any easy to face nor hard. It is not that Loki cannot bear this punishment, on the contrary this is just so vulgarly soft that it feels insulting. 

That’s infuriating. This; being confined to this little cage of four walls, to sit in the same ungraceful litter, to stare at the same impossible clean floor and look to the same group of fools Einherjar, always the same brute but constantly changing, at some point, wait for weariness to have the grace of remember him and pass by his cell to put him to sleep. Only to wake up and do all over again. 

This is not torture; this is pure and absolute boredom. This is Odin’s punishment, another of his greatest humiliation.

. 

One day Lady Frigga comes by to visit. 

He’s taken aback while doing his everyday walls scrutiny, when he realizes that she is already there. Nevertheless he does not let it show, even if he knows that nothing escapes her careful look. 

Loki turns around smoothly and nonchalant, a grin cracking in his face, and nothing is beating in his chest. She seems to be in the mood for a chat, though he finds he has nothing to say to her, that does not impede her from trying and continuing to do so. And when she seems to be satisfied, no, not satisfied but to have enough of this, she leaves the same way she came; she vanishes.

Her visit is not a unique futile attempt; a fortnight after her first visit she comes back. This time Loki perceives her arrival minutes before she appears. This time she comes with peace offerings; books, furniture, even a fine bedding, however, this time she doesn’t attempt to chat. She rather speaks alone. Again Loki remains in silence and watching her until she has enough and leaves him. The next fortnight she is back again with more peace offerings and more soliloquy. 

“Lady Frigga,” this time he says “your treats almost buy me.”

Which she responds blinking slowly and elegantly, as if she were chewing and tasting each one of his words, as if he’d told a riddle. 

“I’m not trying to buy you, my child.” She finally answers with her always elegant, always assertive, always levelheaded voice. “There’s nothing I can do with what has happened, with what I had done, with my mistakes. I only can work with what I have now, try my best and hope it blooms beautiful flowers in the future.” 

Her look is not one easy to maintain, after all her eyes are the ones of a Queen, Asgard’s Queen, the All-Mother. Something pierces his chest. Yet Loki looks her right back at the eyes, stretches his lips shut as if they had been sewed.

After that her visits starts to be weekly. She always speaks, he sometimes responds; a sharp comment with a silver of poison, a quick cut to the skin not too deep to deserve any kind of healing but enough to bleed, to be felt, to burn through the touch of the fabric and Frigga always has her smooth cryptic words to snap back.

Time goes by and they keep going, Loki now can discern between the ends of the week for the visits of Lady Frigga. And unlike his mother Thor does not come to visit him, not even once, he does not even go to the dungeons when they bring new prisoners. Good, Loki does not wish to see his face nor bear his presence, Thor means nothing too. Days born and die to born and die again and again, and waste and rot in Loki’s eternity. And the normality, the humdrum, with what they pass start to seed a certain kind of nuisance in his guts. It almost feels like something is slipping out of his sight, someone laughing behind his back and he can’t see who they are.

**.  
-20**

In the awakening of the one hundred and forty-third day Loki is suddenly reminded that his time here is borrowed, his eternity is not meant to spend in a comfortable little white cage. The laugh that has been haunting him in both dreams and reality, astonishes his ears with such a literality that it pierces through his skull. It even makes the whole palace shake to its very roots.

Panic runs through his veins and fills every nerve of his body. His heart just hits his breastbone and contracts with a brutality it hurts. Suddenly he is drowned in images, feelings, in the memory of the sensations he has been forcing into a dark corner of his mind. His whole body freezes– He sees red, he smells burned skin, he hears a muffle pathetic attempt of crying out, he feels every inch of his limbs as if it were waiting for something terrible to happen to them. He sees black, he smells roasted flesh, he listens the silence piercing his skull and he feels the ghost of his bones being ripped one by one. He sees– numbers.

Loki swallows and pushes with all his godly strength, his wit, _his self_, to force all those feelings back where they were. He pushes them, he digs and he buries them. 

Now is not time for sentiment, it is foolishness. He has no time, it has run short. 

But he has himself. He will know how to handle this part; he will twist it to his favor, to his owns likes. Now he knows better, he tells himself, now he is different.

So Loki gets up from the floor he had fallen, straightens his back and arranges his tunic. All along he recites the numbers in the patron he has memorized a thousand times. He controls his shaking body and relaxes, watches the ridiculously still clean floor, concentrates in the stupid white wall and, finally, he fixes his gaze into the transparent panel. Then he sits in his bed and waits.

The palace shakes again and one more time, debris fall from the ceiling messing the floor once and for all. The table that his– Lady Frigga brought falls with the books on there. 

The Einherjars start running through the hallways, shouting at each other like a pack of scared hounds, waiting for some command, some explanation, some confident leader that saves them from this unknown enemy, some savior that guarantees their lives. But there’ll be nothing of that, the poor ones, if they knew they would just cease this façade of honorable warriors. Yet they don’t, and they fear with every inch of that Aesir heart.

And for a moment everything stops, everything seems suspended in by the fragile and capricious thread that is time. The earth stops shaking, debris stop falling, even the Einherjars stop in their place, paralyzed by fear and searching in each other’s face some solace. 

Loki tightens his fists until his knuckles go white, until his nails break the skin of his palm and then a bit more. The numbers, he holds to the numbers, keeps loyal to the counting. The lights goes down, the silence reeks the air like an infectious disease. Then something strikes the doors of the dungeons with such strength it shakes the soil, one more time. 

And the Einherjar running in position; the sound of their armor, their hearts, their fear tremble altogether. Then one more strike is all what it’s needed to knock down an Asgardian door and so everything is finished.

Loki finishes counting at the time every Einherjar is liying still on the floor. 

There are people in front of his cells. 

No, not just people, _them_. _They have come for him._

**.  
-19**

Loki doesn’t fight back, doesn’t resist when they break the glass and enter the cell. They put handcuffs on him, he has to hold the laugh about to escape him because he’s willing to cooperate even though they show nothing but hostility against him. It is not that much, he has always enjoyed a little violence. 

Though he notices something “What about the new outfits?” he laughs. 

Those brand new and all colored suits are truly something… unexpected. They don’t go unnoticed; he earns a pull of chains and no answer. ‘_So that’s how it is going to be… Alright then.’_

They drag him on their ship, perhaps he isn’t putting any real resistance but he isn’t going to make it any easy for them. He runs a curious look for this new ship, a little old-fashioned, he frowns his eyebrows, this doesn’t really look anything like his ways. He fidgets his fingers, trying to get comfortable in the chains.

“What we are waiting for? You already have me; it is all you came for,” he says. He tries to keep his tone smooth, no trepidation in the sentence. “Isn’t it?”

Silence. Not one of them seems to intend to answer him or to even regard his question, it quite feels like he is not even there. They look each other in the eye almost nervously, he can sense that even with their helmets on. They are waiting for something– for someone. His muscles tense, this time he is the one who pulls the chains demanding an answer.

“Oh don’t let it go to your head!” one of them says. A shiver runs down Loki’s spine, that voice, he knows it. It is not entirely familiar but more like a known nuisance, someone who he hasn’t expect to listen ever in his life again.

Loki hears someone coming from the hallways, the one who talks has realized of this too and gazes into that direction. He notices that everyone relaxes, just a little. Loki turns around to look with his own eyes who is the one that they’re so pleased to see.

“You are not the the superstar of the show. We came for another thing.” This bold creature dares to tell him. The other gets in the ship carrying something awfully familiar; the tesseract. Loki doesn’t want to think what it implies. “But cheer up Reindeer Games, at least we didn’t forget about you!”

Time gets stuck in Loki’s throat. Numbers lose all sense and meaning. 

_Do not forget to count, you must not, you cannot. _

The one on the hallway takes off his helmet and, somehow Loki knows, he does it as he watches Loki.   
And Loki for a moment stops breathing, stops scheming, stops thinking.

“Thor.”

The count drops down, to the beginning or to the end, it isn’t clear anymore. It has always been the same.

No. This is not Thor, the brainless brute he knows, not the Asgard’s mighty berserker who Loki has grown up with, not the first golden and bigger child, not the one and only Odin’s son, not the one who plagues his memories; with bitterness and sour that still bleed like open wounds, some of them, and the ones that are sweet are lethal as the worst poison Loki can think of.

“Loki.” This man says. This-- ill made copy. This shadow that wears Loki’s brother mask so oddly that doesn’t quite fit him.

And yet,* also matches the dinge of his very Hamingja, the song of a dying star –Asgard’s sun– plastered into his soul and wearing it like his own face.

Loki swallows hard and starts counting all over again.

**.**


	2. Reverse Knight of Wands

**.**  
**-18. **

At first Loki is completely puzzled, taken aback, bewildered. Whatever he was expecting, of all the possibilities he could ever think of what his destiny would be, it was not this. He does not understand how this could connect with paying the due he has with Thanos. How this would be his punishment? 

Because this has to be of the Mad Tintan’s doing, it has, there’s no doubt in that. Loki failed him so there would be consequences, because in Thanos’ twisted visions of justice every wrongdoing had to be severely apprehended and what Loki had done was beyond only failing. He had betrayed him and such trespassing could never be disregarded.

But this; The Avengers? Thor? whatever this is, Loki must decipher what the Mad Titan and his minions plan for him.

They don’t waste time in foolishness like formalities or sentimentalism. They go straight for the head, assertive and brutally honest, they even make some points deadly clear; his limitations. If he trespasses them, if he dares to even make a suspicious move, Loki’s to be put down. And that’s all. Then they unchain him and get him in another lovely cage.

After that they tell him the story, or rather, _Anthony Stark_ has the honor to tell it.

(Though there’s nothing of honor in his words. There is just a sick feeling, caged, unable to heal and rotting in his insides. It pesters his whole body but he does a good job in keeping it well preserve, caged, locked under the cold comfort of his infallible wit, his last trick, his dearest dagger that will plunge into the heart of the ugly beast and kill it. Is almost charming, so classic Stark.)

And Loki listens to him, now comfortable in his new cell and well seated in his new litter –he can’t complain about this one, certainly–. Loki listen this tragic deed, how the Mad Titan had finally fulfilled his most cherished desire, to collect the six infinity stones all by himself to erase half the population of the entire universe, with just a snap of a fancy gauntlet. Of course, not before having fought a glorious battle against the great Avengers. But after all the efforts and casualties, _Thanos_ had won. 

Nevertheless that wasn’t all, oh no, the greatest heroes of Midgard and some remaining allies would not give up, not even with the universe failing apart they could not. They still had some trick to pull on, because that is what heroes do, they do not lose or give. At least not until every one of them lies lifeless in the soil they fought. 

Loki listens carefully and sharp –and doesn’t flinch, not even a little, when he listens the name. It doesn’t give him nothing, doesn’t bring nothing, and when his fists ache from squeezing it is for the adrenaline and not any other little reason–. Loki listens and when _Stark_ ends and looks at him saying: “Well. What do ya think?”

So this is the great plan? The most sadistic and fairer punishment for an offender like Loki. This charade of the Avengers coming all together, and even Thor, to what? Free him of prison and give him another opportunity of proving himself a decent person? To save two whole universes, one who’s already screwed by the big bad Titan and the other that isn’t, yet?

Impossible. Perhaps Loki has finally gone absolutely mad. There’s no way Thanos expects him to believe this. This must be a joke. Except it isn’t. Of course it isn’t and of course it isn’t about saving any universe and making of Loki a golden hero. No, no. This about fooling him into the illusion that he still has a chance of being free. Thanos and his minions expect him to believe that illusion and to start to trust in it, start to hope. And later when he’s distracted and trusted, once his defenses are low and he is left weak, then they’ll strike and deliver him the real great punishment: Betrayal, a taste of Loki’s own wrongdoings.

But Loki is not that foolish, that naïve, not anymore, anyways. So Loki decides to play along with them, and eventually an opportunity will come and that’s how he’ll finally get what he wants.

So Loki simply says. “Interesting story. Fatal end, do not misunderstand me; I’m very fond of them. Though this would-be sequel, I am afraid I... am doubtful. Yes! There is some question spinning around my head.”

The _Avengers_ remain silent and look at him, looks at Stark. Uneasiness filling the room, they still cling to this fateful tranquility. There is something in the air, something Loki still can’t comprehend its shape, still can’t fathom what it is. He watches this so called façade of “Avengers”. And he can see they’re together but there’s something loosing between them; an empty space, broken, with sharp edges, and from that hole comes a sour stench.

The _Man of Iron furrow_s his eyebrows, licks his lips and breaths. “Which is?”

“You see, I still do not understand what my humble place into this… story is,” Loki stares _Stark_ directly at his eyes, trying to look harmless, not seconds intention, tries to sound sincere, innocent even. “What part does somebody like me could play?”  
Stark clicks his tongue, shudders and answers him.

“We thought you could help us with Thanos and the Infinity Stones,” at this Loki cocks an eyebrow but does not say anything, lets him explain more. “As we all know, you–” Here the _Man of Iron pauses_, searching for words, thinking well what he is about to say and only then he dares to speak again. “You attacked Earth under his orders. And we think– we know you know things about him. We think those things can help us to destroy him, or at least give us a clue to find a weapon that will destroy him, the Infinity Stones–”

Loki can’t contain the laugh that escapes his mouth. _Mortals can be stupid and little but do they really think he will bite that? Even mortals would now that he wouldn’t. _

“And you think that I would give you this information just because you took me out of a cell and then toss me into another?” he says; now he does not bother in hiding the rabid nature of his words.

“Well. Yes and no…” _Stark_ starts talking but then pauses, taking his moment to elaborate the idea in his mind. 

“He does not believe in us.” _Thor_ says; voice rough and coarse suddenly breaking the impassive silence. 

He gets up from his seat, and for a moment Loki feels the ship shaking, nevertheless _Thor_ doesn’t look disturbed in the slightest. He walks to him until the barrier of the cell stops him, his moves are slow but fluid, like he is carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders and that task is something natural for him. Loki swallows; breaths quietly. Looks down at his fingers, barely acknowledging _Thor’s_ actions, just catching him from the corner of his eyes and decides not to say anything.

This _Thor_ looks at him for a moment, the time seems to expand between them both.

Loki forces –almost too much– a laugh. 

“Why would I?” He hisses almost imperceptible. Then he looks at them, tilting his head and smiling he says. “Say I do. You still have nothing to offer me in exchange.”

Loki lurks into the _Thundered_ eyes and he lurks back at him.

Their little chat ends like that and with the _Avengers, Thor_ included, retiring from this prison-room and leaving him alone. 

Again.   
Finally.

Slowly, he starts to plunge into the silence.

**.   
.  
-17.**

  
“So that went bad,” Stark says. As if he couldn’t keep himself from stating the obvious, one of his few flaws, he had said once.

Romanoff chuckles but she still remains silent, Thor thinks her decision is wise and imitates her. Just watching the scene as the rest of the group sinks in their own musings. 

It is Banner the next who speaks.

“Yeah well, what are we gonna do now?” He walks in circles and patters his fingers in his chin, as he does when he’s trying to solve a complicated problem. “We need something to offer to him, some kind of remuneration or prize that he is interested, a bargain even. I heard he likes those,” in this he glances Thor quickly, then he stands and fixes his glasses. 

“Do we even have something to offer him?” Stark groans exasperated and pinching his nose.

“Is he even necessary?” Barton inquires, he’s leaning against the window as he watches the space pass, his voice a humdrum devoid of any sentiments like if it were dried.

For a brief moment there’s only the sharp silence of a contained breath. Stark, Rogers, Banner and even Romanoff, as if in a mutual agreement, stop breathing, they seem freeze in the moment, bodies stiff as if they were caught committing a terrible crime. For a moment none says anything, none dares, they just repeatedly gaze at him and then at Barton. For a moment it seems that the rope that holds them together and keeps them from being suck to the void of the universe, is starting to tear apart, thread by thread breaking.

Barton is still staring at the dark emptiness of the space, perhaps sinking in his own sour rumination, about the resolution of recent events, about how they ended right here, about why are they here and what is it that led them here, about Loki and about all that has been, or more like all he has lost, his fist clenching with such pressure it makes the tendons and muscles of his arm twitch. Thor has to swallow hard his own sour rumination, unclench his own fist, tell himself they’re just mortals, that there’s things that they would never comprehend with that little minds of them and with their ephemeral life spans.

“Yes he is.” 

But the rope doesn’t break, someone hold it tight. Rogers stands from the table he was sat, there’s certain tension pressing his shoulders but he easily manages to carry it, like something he has done a thousand times and he would do it a thousand more.

The air fills the room; everybody is able to breathe again.

Thor thinks that the name Captain suits him just well. 

“Yes he is necessary. We need all the help we can get and we can’t let go any opportunity,” he explains smoothly, looks Barton right at the eyes but he express no aggression, no order or tension, just calm and stability, an amiable hand from which to hold and trust. Steve Rogers has always been good in leadership, a good captain, a loyal soldier. “And he has information. He knows Thanos, knows his plans, knows his moves. He–”

“Yeah because he was one of his minions, that’s why he knows,” the Man of Iron adds and it’s almost as if he truly isn’t able to control his tongue, almost, if Thor would not know him as he does. “I’m just stating facts, you know me guys. I’m just playing my usual piece: the devil’s advocate. And as such I say Clint has a point,” and with that the rope start to tightens again. But Stark moves his hands, close and opens his palms, stirs his fingers and then points one of them to the ceiling. “But–But, I think Rogers makes another good point.”

At this both of them crosses a look, agreement, _we need this, we can’t let that happen, _it’s a subliminal message between them. Thor also recognizes that kind of communication, after ages of battling with his brothers and sisters in arms. Stark and Rogers exchange a brief secret nod.

“We need his information, we need all he knows, we need every little-freaking-one of the details–” his voices trembles at this. Thor is not looking the scene, distracted with the outlandish design of the ground, but he feels Stark’s eyes on him. Quickly he clears his throat and continues. “Maybe he is not the– most brilliant and better of the cards. But he is the wild card we have.”

“Yeah, the wild card that almost destroyed all New York,” points Barton, still remaining in that same posture. “The wild card that almost made me accomplice in that, as he fucked with my brain, by the way.” 

And just like that the great Avengers –or who once were— drags themselves into another fruitless and endless discussion. It’s not something that Thor is willing to waste his time, not anymore, there’s not much of his interest anyways. Bored of the scene Thor looks for something to entertain himself and finds, in the table he’s seated, a basket with bread. Midgardian bread, of course, but out of options he takes one. 

“We also have all the information the daughter of Thanos gave us,” Romanoff breaks her silence with a perfect shot; always aiding for the head, that’s her preference and she isn’t the ones that tries new things, she knows she’s good in that, she knows she always success. 

Although this times she walks to Barton’s side, her moves soften, the smiles she puts is almost sweet and full sentiment, then delicately she grabs one his hands. “But I also think his information is important; whatever he knows it’ll make things easier for us, to return

“Yeah… That. Umm… I think Thor should try to talk to him,” the manner that Banner fidgets his fingers and the hesitation which he speaks, indicates the situation is starting to get in his nerves and that he is unsure of what that could mean. The mortal side of him is trying to solve this complex problem.

Romanoff’s unaware of this, or perhaps ignoring it, she keeps speaking softly at Barton “But if he is unwilling to cooperate, if… he tries something we’ll just– dismiss him.” 

Thor cannot watch her expression with her back at him, and it’s not like he has the desire to stop contemplating the Midgardian bread basket. But then everybody is looking at him, as if they were in search of some kind of approbation, some kind of order to follow.

Thor stands up from his place, takes another piece of bread and chews it. 

“I agree,” he says, then he takes the whole basket and starts walking off of the room. He stops before he leaves to add; “Your bread is not that bad but lacks of… how you call it? ... _fluffiness?_, I think.” And he leaves. 

From the growing distant he hears the start of another dispute, Thor listens Roger and Stark raising their voices finally giving into their never ending bad blood and throwing away that silent alliance. He grunts letting go just a bit of his contended frustration as he walks ago, the hassle gradually becomes a buzzing sound that gets lost in the quietness. **  
.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of silence in this fic, sorry I’m a gremlin living in a cave so I don’t know much about communication.
> 
> If you’re curious my tweeter is @slaegiass


	3. Absolutely Terror Field.

**.**  
**-16.**

  
Loki senses him before he reaches the door. The room is basically at dims, just one light bulb striving to illuminate the whole space, but Loki is comfortable with it, he is always been more akin to the shadows than the blinding clarity.

He rises to his feet just at the moment the door is opened and as predicted _Thor_ is the one standing behind it. The rest of the lights turn on all suddenly, it takes Loki a minute to adapt to it but he doesn’t show any signal of it, and when his vision is completely regained the image of his–his not-brother is still there. Now in front of him, the only thing that separates them is the barrier.

“Finally you have decided to come to gloat, _hmm brother_?” Loki spits, lets the venom slip through his tongue and out of his mouth.

_Thor_ just watches him, no expression readable in his face, just the eternal gaze of his eyes over him, one blue and one amber-mechanical, the remaining scar of a terrible wound crosses it, the short and dark blonde hair, his whole presence feels so flagrantly odd. It makes Loki uneasy, it puzzles him, it irritates him. The uncertainty of not knowing; if they are jesting or just directly insulting him, the thought of it sends a wave of ice through his veins that could almost burn him. The lack of response and those obnoxious eyes pierced on him, lingering like the watch of a haunted ghost guilty of crime.

Loki shakes off the cobwebs weaving in the back of his mind, dismisses once for all that strange kind of sentiment _‘It is foolish. In the big schemes of things it does no good’,_ he thinks. Instead he addresses his not-brother with a predatory look, narrowing his eyes, tilting down his chin, eyeing him like a serpent would do to its prey and baring his teeth in a smile.

“Oh,” he says, honestly surprised at the novelty of finding the other man holding a breadbasket. He cocks an eyebrow, he sharpens his smile. “_Please_. Do not tell me that you are going to appeal to my sentiment?” sings viciously, the laugh that he is containing sways between his teeth like daggers that he knows to juggle.

Back in his childhood, every time he and Thor had a disagreement that made them mad with each other for days, one of them, the one who felt most responsible for causing the resentment of the other, (usually Thor and in rare occasions Loki) would sneak up to the kitchen, steal a whole basket of freshly made bread and then they would find the other, look for all the palace if necessary. And when they would find the other, they would offer the bread to them as a peace offering, and after accepting it they would go away from the palace and the people, often to the stables, where they could pass the day together without being bothered. It was a time just for the two of them; eating bread, talking nonsense, laughing.

But that was a long time ago, too much has changed since then. No piece of ordinary food would pacify the resentment nor fix the damage of the lies that were said, what has been done can’t be undone and what is broken it stays broken. What a stupid joke, appealing to his sentimentalism to convince him?

Loki hisses: “This is hilarious, I can’t believe that you–”

“Wait… Are you talking about this?” _Thor_ cuts him at once, pointing the breadbasket and forming an irritating smile. “Oh no, don’t be such a fool! I bring this for me,” he says with an animosity that is clearly intended to mock him, it makes the muscles of Loki’s hands tense but he won’t allow himself to fall for that. “Now, I have to say it’s not like the one of Asgard. It’s not even like that weird bread that old Vanir Lady used to bring for Valborgs Aften, but it is what midgardians have,” He says as he chews one bun after another. “And, honestly, for all I know it could be worse, believe me,”

Then _Thor_ throws a look for the place, apparently looking for something, and when he finds the object that he requires he walks to it and drags a chair for all the room. At this point Loki’s patience is running thin, they are really testing him in the worst possible way, he has to be honest. 

He is about to hiss _‘Have you finished?’_ with the right amount of hostility disguised in a smooth tone. But then _Thor_ stops him raising his hand as he settles in the chair, and Loki allows it as he folds his arms in his chest and carefully watches the other’s moves with a cold look.

“As a matter of fact, yes I have come to… convince you. Uhmm… What’s the word that you like to use? Oh, right, Bargain! I have come to bargain,” he finally speaks and what he says accomplishes to puzzle him for a second time. The worst of all is that blasted amuse look he has, it almost wears out all Loki’s patience, making him want to end this charade. 

But Loki doesn’t, he just stares Thor deadly at his eyes as if he were plunging a knife to his chest.

“And no, I will not appeal to your _sentiment, brother._” He finishes and then this man, this shadow who claims to be Thor, looks directly at him. And in his eyes he can see a storm, _vindöld_, like a promise of the future, like an omen of something destined to happen and like the debris its left once it passed. “That sort of things is easier to let it burn, don’t you think?” 

Loki cocks an eyebrow and nods slowly, such an odd phrase for him to say. “And what exactly would you be offering me?”

“Oh quite simple,” _Thor_ says setting aside the breadbasket and leaning in, he narrows his eyes assessing Loki. “To save Asgard.” 

The Liesmith chuckles with sadistic mirth at the delirium of those words but then catches _Thor_ just standing, watching him and smiling back, as if he actually meant what he just said. 

Loki shudders and bares his teeth.

“What?” He barks, demands to stop being mocked. 

“What what? It isn’t so difficult to understand, brother, if you help us to get rid of Thanos you’ll become Asgard’s golden _savior_. Maybe it is that what you have always wanted? To be adored and respected by people, by _all_ of Asgard, even Mother, and Father, and also me?”

“THAT IS NOT TRUE!” Loki cries out shivering, rage building up and up, it’s like it will set him on fire and Loki would _wish_ it to happen. “I don’t want anything of what you say. I DON’T care, I could not care any less, for that! If I ever wanted people to respect me and to fear me, it was only to be their King! That _is_ my birthright.” He claims, breathing raggedly and feeling his blood boil inside his veins. How many times must he say it? How much longer must he be mocked like this? Will this kind of torment never end?

“Alright.” The man with the face of Asgard’s true golden warrior says, and Loki doesn’t like the facility with which the words are spoken. “If not Asgard then your own life.”

And Loki doesn’t know if he should burst into maniacal laugh or yell an endless waterfall of insult and curses and else poisoned words, maybe he should try both, but he does nothing. His body is as rigid as if his tongue has been bite with some paralyzing venom.

“No?” Thor asks, and there’s something in his left eye, the real electric blue eye, there is something that just fades and something that hardens, and it’s just an instance because then somehow, paradoxically, his smile brightens. “That’s a shame, because that is really all what I can offer you. But as you wish, _brother_.”

And Loki tries to narrow his eyes and to get closer, to look into him and read something that explains this shadow of a man, this thunder that was and somehow still is. Nevertheless he turns back, apparently deciding to leave Loki again, perhaps this time forever. And there’s something that loosens and falls inside of him, like a landslide, like words that are turned into knives. It hits him like all the realizations; merciless and ferocious.

“I accept.” Loki mutters in a voice as thin as the threads of destiny. When he sees that his answer hasn’t been heard, he clears his throat and says out loud, this time: “Do not speculate in what I’m going or not going to do, you were never good at that.” Thor stops just before reaching the door, he doesn’t turn to face him but Loki knows he’s hearing. 

It’s an impulse born of something more carnal and desperate than any mischief. “I accept your offer.”  
Just then _Thor_ dares to face him, there’s still that smile so hideous of his, there’s also something else in his eyes. 

“Great!” He says.

**.**

**-15.**

His plan is simple: play their little game and when they least expect it get away from this place, with his life and the tesseract. In terms of logistics it isn’t the most intricate of Loki’s schemes, thereby it’s pretty simple, but in terms of implementing the plan there is its complexity.

However Loki is Loki Liesmith, Trickster and Silvertongue. Such fine and sharp names do justice to his persona, he embraces those names, he uses them as weapons and in exchange they grant him power. Though not any mundane power but a rare kind, an amorphous, mercurial and volatile kind of power; the kind which with the flutter of a butterfly here causes catastrophic consequences there. A power fit for nothing more and nothing else than the God of Mischief. Loki knows how to play this games, he was born for and in it.

This _Thor-shadow_ doesn’t waste any time, he takes him off of the cage, puts the handcuffs on him –something that apparently has become a habit and, really, Loki thinks it is a little bit too extra. Though this time this Thor has the courtesy of not put a muzzle on him,– then he leads him to somewhere. Loki takes this opportunity to study the place as much as possible. 

And then they are there, in a simplistic room with a large table, behind it there’s a door and a long window with its glass covered in a black material. The _Avengers_ all gathered in the room, too, they seem deep in some sort of silent argument, visceral and cold just as mortals would like it. Yet when they catch sight of _Thor_ and him they put aside all that charade, they do this other charade of acting as if nothing happened but Loki can taste the burning tension there’s in the place. All this it’s really good, they are really putting an effort on it, Loki must grant them that.

“Ah-Ahm. What exactly is this, Thor?” The _Man of Iron_ inquires fidgeting with some sort of tool.

“Loki in chains.” His bro– Thor, this _Thor-shadow_ teases. It almost makes Loki laugh but he bites his tongue, however, _Thor’s_ companions does not appreciate the jest. “I’m successfully fulfilling my part, as accorded.”

“Ah. So he is…” starts _Banner_ almost afraid of finishing his sentence.

“Going to cooperate with the plan of killing Thanos and finding the infinity stones, yes, yes. Hooray for me.” There is still scraps of that mockery tone he used, but Loki notices there’s also anger, it passes so fast it’s like lighting and for the inexperienced eye is imperceptible, but for Loki is unmistakably obvious. “Is it not, Loki?”

This inferior beings look at him with wary eyes and Loki returns the gesture with equal affection. 

“Of course.” He purrs smirking.

“See?” _Thor_ says and then he pats heavily Loki’s shoulders, making his whole body shake painfully but nobody will ever know that from him. “Can we get on with it?... Please.”

And there’s a tense moment in which nobody speaks but they look each other into their eyes, having a silent discussion and when they seem to have enough of it, _Captain America_ takes the initiative. 

“Fine.” He says. “He can stay. We trust you, Thor.”

It almost makes Loki burst into laugh; _they are good_, he grants them that, this whole charade is pretty good. He could buy it, first the rescue-not rescue pretense, the ‘You could be of help but you are not vital, so rot in jail if you want to’ thing, then using the figure of Thor going to him with that foul breadbasket to immediately feign no second intentions, offering Loki save Asgard, as if Thor would know that for all Loki cares Asgard can burn in Hel. Even the whole façade of the Avengers, they nailed that just fine; the parody of their little gang and their evident dysfunction. So be it, the God of Mischief knows better than anybody to play a charade, no other being can best him in his own play. 

“So in what can I be of help, my dear _Captain_?” Loki inquires drawing the focus back to him, he tries to fold his arms but then he is remembered by the cuff in his wrist he isn’t allowed such freedom.

The _Captain_ gives his companions an advisory look, expecting everyone’s unanimity or rather someone’s objection, and that last one is exactly what he obtains when no other than the Hawkeye and speaks.

“You?” He sneers. “There’s only one thing in which you can be of help, and is pass away from this life and in so taking all your best buds with you. In that way you’ll be amending this universe.” There’s so much hostility and loathing in this being, Loki only has seen it in the eyes of the most loyal and twisted of the Mad Titans’ minions, only when Loki had managed to wound that sentimentalism this beings have for the one they cherished the most.

Loki sways for a moment, searching the correct words to say but gets interrupted by _Rogers_ who, for Loki’s surprise, is attempting to appease his companion and not sharing his sentimentalism. “Please Clint–”

“Please what Cap? Am I not right?” Inquires, voice beaming with indignity, he gazes over his companions searching for their validation. “People like him shouldn’t be allowed to exist, they only know how to bring suffering to the universe. This or any other.” And he is met with silence, none of his _so_ brothers-in-arms seem to have anything to say for _Barton_, nevertheless they do not seem to disagree with what he says.

_Romanoff_ emerges from her quite corner to whisper something in _Barton’s_ ear, she rubs his arm and that seems to calm him down enough to step back again. _Rogers_ only regards them with a look then he gives a quick glance to Thor, who’s been surprisingly silent and still for _Thor_, and finally he meets Loki’s eyes again. He takes the opportunity, doing an act of shrugging and smiling nonchalantly as if that would erase what just happened.

“Perhaps we could start releasing me from this unnecessary _damned things_.” Loki suggest wiggling his hands and making the chains clink. He tilts his head blinking his eyelashes, just to test, stretching his smile a bit more. 

And there’s a laugh, it’s more a low and suppressed dark sound but it is a laugh. It’s Thor’s laugh, Loki knows it without necessity of confirmation. The other’s remain in silence and _Roger’s_ just spares _Thor_ a look, for a moment, the he returns his attention to Loki.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

So that’s how far he can pull the rope. He can work with that. He would actually be disappointed otherwise, too easy would be no fun, too easy would be humiliating.

“As you wish.” Loki croons. 

_Roger_ knits his brows slightly and grunts almost imperceptibly, but is there, Loki notices it. He also notices that the _Captain_ is not really looking back to him, his attention is once more turned to _Thor_. It is a strange look, he thinks, is almost as if _Rogers_ were trying to sense and command _Thor_ at the same time. _Interesting_. 

“For now, you can help by telling us everything about you and Thanos.” 

The answers comes like a stab right in the tender flesh. 

“Everything?!” He cries out without thinking, his voice comes out like a pathetic wail too quavering and taken aback. Loki jiggles his shoulder clearing his throat. They can’t be asking this of him, it’s simply counterproductive. “I mean, surely you want to be spare of the… let’s say, dull details. Those would only waste time and you all would be beyond bored.” Surely nobody can be interested in listening it all over again.

“No. We need–We **want** to know everything, every dull detail, every boring detail, every single moment you passed with _him_, no matter how small and insignificant you consider it.” This _Captain America_ speaks with such fervor that the man Loki knew time ago wouldn’t have been able to muster. “You need to tells us everything and perhaps after that we’ll start talking of your freedom.”

Of course it is like that. Of course they want to listen him speak about the great Mad Titan. This must be just another test more and Loki won’t allow himself to not pass it. 

“Alright,” he says smoothly “But I’d like to sit somewhere. You must know ‘tis a long story and this chains are quite heavy, and I think we all can coincide that a good story is better told if the taleteller is sitting comfortably.”

_Rogers_ nods and so Loki takes sit on the table, he tries to folds his hands under it but fails piteously because of those cursed chains and ends up just resting them on the table. In this way it’ll be more difficult to reach the daggers he’s hidden in his boots, but he’ll come with something when the time comes. He shift into the sit, taking his sweet time, until he finds a comfortable position and just then he feels more willingly to start talking. 

Only that _Doctor Bruce Banner_ seems to come up with the same idea. “Right, so this is good, this certainly is an advance… But I think it would be more profitable if we… divided the tasks.” He explains fidgeting nervously a pen between his fingers, the _Avengers_ turns to look at him. “Like you stay here listening whatever crazy story he has with– with Thanos, and I go to… to keep studying the– the thing.”

Loki has to bite his tongue in order to repress a laugh, the good _Doctor Banner_. It’s just so good! 

“Seems good to me,” says _Stark_ in a strange condescending tone altering his gaze between _Banner _and_ Rogers_. “What you say Cap? Though it’s all good with you Bruce, I trust you, just I wouldn’t want to be seen as the one who has the last word.” And, there he is, the classic arrogant _Stark_.

“Yeah. It’s good to me too.” _Rogers_ answers diplomatically, directly facing Banner. 

“Great, then I’ll go.” 

“I’m going with you.” _Barton_ speaks, who until now has been standing in a corner of the room in silence, just watching. No, it isn’t just that, it’s a declaration. Loki can notice the tension pressuring him.

For a moment everything sinks on one of those turbulent silences that now seem to be something usual. Then _Stark_ agrees, meanwhile _Rogers_ and the _Widow_ seem to be having their own silent discussion.

“I’ll go with you too,” she says not looking at anybody, just concentrating in her own actions. And neither _Banner_ nor _Barton_ seem to have disapprove of this, for they wait for her to finally leave for that mysterious door.

Loki watches all curiously, sneakily shifting his legs while nobody is looking.

Though _Thor’s_ eyes never leave Loki’s form, he can sense them piercing his skull as a constant reminder that he’s being watched, monitored, judged, so he has to be careful with his actions. Loki can’t help but think on how enticing this is, like dodging metallic knives in a field at the middle of a thunderstorm, like yearning the sweet blistering strike of lightning.  
This charade is almost too good for its own good. Simultaneously that’s even better for Loki.

Once they leave and there’s just three of them and Loki, the so called _Captain America_ says. “So, you can start talking now.”

And Loki obediently does.

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
(I’ve changed this chapter’s name so many.fucking.unnecesary times. What can I say? I’m pisces, chaotic neutral and nb, I just can’t decide lmao.  
But I think that one is the definitive title, I really like it bc it gets the concept of the chapter and also it’s a reference to a story I love. A clue: it has something to do with existentialism, mommy issues and catholic robots. lmao)


	4. Stop the Dams

**.**  
**-14.**

  
Time goes by, always so relentlessly, Loki does talk plenty and in detail. He tells the story as he’s been asked, he tells an story and stories are always so cryptic and ambiguous; they are free to shape into endless forms, they are free because nothing can chain them, a taleteller can only relate one or some of its forms and if he is good enough the story may shape into a new form. That’s what he likes of them. And _they_ seem to be as much contented enough.

Thor, _Thor-shadow’s_ gaze is still upon him, it never really leaves him. Loki wants to remark how unsettling it is, how much he repudiates it and how inaccurate it is, he really wants it but then there is this unsettling feeling of–of satisfaction. 

Loki pushes those thoughts, buries them in the abject corner of his mind. “I guess it was a good deal, two unstable old stones that could tear the very universe apart in exchange of Midgard. It was not the grand Realm Eternal but, also, it wasn’t the ice lands of Jotunheim.” He tells, pouring just the amount of truth that walks into the sharpest borders of the knife, then he adds. “It would also mock the mighty Thor. Can you imagine it, brother? It would have been hilarious,”

But his _not-never-brother_ doesn’t respond to it, doesn’t really do anything more than a bothered grunt, tired of something that he has seen thousand of times. Almost like he wouldn’t exactly buy what he says.

Though the other two, _Rogers_ and _Stark_, do buy it. They even seem to have enough.

“So you are saying that you are but a pawn of Thanos’ twisted game?” _Stark_ inquires pinching his nose.

It makes Loki’s blood boil. “**I am not **anyone’s pawn.” 

“Yeah whatever you say Reindeer Games, still your story isn’t quite complete.” 

He clenches his jaws, trying to tame his tongue from cutting farther than it’s safe. 

“It is the complete story. ‘Tis the only story, _Stark_.” Loki spits.

“Well it isn’t enough! You must be skipping some details, something. Tell us all since the start.” 

Loki cannot believe this humiliation, this, he cannot allow.

“I have just told you everything,” he tells sounding as smoothly as he’s ever been. His own nails scratch the skin of his palms where they’re buried, it is nothing. “If you don’t like it you are free to search for another… pawn.”

And just with that this _Man of Iron _seems to be completely unarmed, at the very border of imploding and tear apart all that surrounds him. 

“Enough.” A claim like a thunder that falls upon the soil and is able to shake the very roots of Yddgrasil.

It almost makes him tremble, almost. Loki straightens his back, still as the very metal that Mjolnir is made.

And then another silence. 

“That’s enough.” _Rogers’s_, ever the good _Captain_, reaffirms. “It is most than we had, it is most than we could ask.” 

_Stark_ peers at him with the kind of look that is able to cut the tender of a being. Then he peers at _Thor_ and he hold his gaze with the weight that only a God has, in this Loki doesn’t need to look back to be sure neither, he feels it in his very bones. And finally _Stark_ turns to him, and Loki would never let down a mortal, after all he is a God too.

Tension builds up as silence. 

And, just in time, they’re interrupted. _Bruce Banner _enters, or re-enters the room, opening the door with a little more of the force required.

He clears his throat, seeming suddenly aware of his surroundings, or of Loki. “We need a word.” 

_Romanoff_ and _Barton_ come in after _Banner_, their faces doesn’t say anything, like the prodigious children their father trained them to be, but that rather says more of what they would like. Now Loki knows for certain where the tesseract is.

“Then speak.” _Thor_ says, _Thor_ demands.

The _Doctor_ spares a side glance to Loki and with that the problem is clear. And it only seems to add the exact amount of strain to start ripping the threads of the very rope in which they are all suspended, it would take a sole plug to tear it apart completely and let them fall into the chaos of the vacuum.

“We don’t have time for this.” _Thor_ claims.

And a God of Mischief cannot ignore his own affairs, a prayer must be answered, a thread he must plug for the sake of the entropy. “Oh, please, don’t mind me I am but a disposable _pawn_.” He whispers just barely audible, like the drop of water that overflows the glass.

_Stark_ hisses something venous but it is loss in the clangor of something heavy crashing the wood of the table.

“Yeah, that’s why we should get rid of him.” _Barton_ barks.

And the good, good _Captain_ sighs as if he were tired of a situation that insist in repeating itself. “Clint we already talk about that we–”

“And we already agree... what was the— how do you Midgard people call it? _Lesser evil_.” _Thor_ cuts up.

“Well, maybe we should stop looking up for the lesser evil and start to look up for the major good. Don’t you think?” _Stark_ inquires with a rage a mortal as him cannot contain.

“Tony I don’t think–” _Rogers_ starts but again isn’t able to end his sentence for he is interrupted by the named man.

“Oh don’t you Tony me!”

_Romanoff_ pinches the bridge of her nose, so used to the same situation but yet exasperated. She tries to interject but her voice is overwhelmed by the voices of her own brothers-in-arms, and so she tries to elevate her voice to overcome the unnecessary hassle.

And just like that chaos is settle, Loki wants to clap at their excellent performance but that wouldn’t be propitious for his own intentions. So he remains in silence, shifting freely to reach his daggers and free himself of those pathetic attempt of chains. They aren’t enchanted and they aren’t even Asgardians, as he supposed, he would be insulted if this wouldn’t be completely favorable for him. 

And so without much ceremony Loki stands up and is completely free to do whatever he wants, he walks to that mysterious door that conducts to a not-so-mysterious-room, where he now is sure that the tesseract itself is there. He can feel it’s power stretching the fabric of reality, pulling the thread that unites them, it calls his name in such a way that no maiden nor honorable knight could speak, it invites him to take it and tame it and own it and–

An arrow stabs deeply into the material of the door, he is able to avoid just in time, if his senses wouldn’t be so sharp the arrow would have nail into his own flesh.

But then, time is also unforgivable, and he is reminded by the way that this _beast_ lunges over him and grabs him by the neck slamming his body against the wall. 

And Loki is reminded that this is just a game in which he is the principal attraction. A plaything to be tormented meanwhile the numbers of its countdown drop down and down, until the inevitable end.

Loki’s skull crashes against the wall again, how could he forget _the numbers? The count?_, Panic arises from the deep of his bones where it hides like vermin ambushing a prey and injecting venom into its veins. The grip on his neck tightens and tightens endlessly, and Loki knows he can do something to scape this, Loki knows he should be at least scheming something to scape this, but he just _can’t_.

With the sound of his heart hammering against his chest and ringing astonishingly in his ears, his senses are completely overwhelmed, he feels sinking down into the vacuum of the space, into his worst nightmares, into a destiny he can’t scape.

And then it’s all a rush, there’s a roar or a thunder, something that shakes the fabric of the trance in which he has been trapped. And then his whole bone structure aches and feels made of a soft and gelatinous material, and his muscles feels too strained and too heavy, and so he crumbles down to the floor. 

He blinks, and he’s back in the reality in which Loki’s pretending he believes this illusion; that his brother wants to unite forces with him to kill that Mad Titan, but no, this is _Thanos_’ sick illusion. This is Loki’s fair punishment; the one that’ll make him long for something as sweet as pain. 

But if this is it; why is Thor, no, this _Thanos’s_ minion using his brother skin, tossing his own companion, his true _brother-in-arm_, away from Loki and with such rage? Why is he impeding Loki from suffering the sentence his own precious master gave him? How does this fit into his punishment? 

Loki cannot understand.

Thousands of thoughts like burst of wind that come and go, run and fall, build and topple down, in Loki’s mind, other storms take place outside. Thanos’ minions, the _Avengers_… These people scream to each other as if they were rabid dogs wanting to rip their faces with their teeth. 

And when they seem ready to do it, people enter the room to stop them. Loki does not take the time to study them carefully because his eyes are caught in just one of them, one he recognizes. Nebula, Thanos’ daughter, the one he despised no matter what she’d done for him, the one who despises him in return, the one who wants to kill his father –perhaps– more than anybody else in the universe, the one who would never help in anything related to Thanos except his own destruction. 

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing of this makes sense. Loki thinks, his whole body is trembling and he can’t stop it. 

He breaths in and out, closing his eyes. And when he opens them the first he sees is the figure of this man, Thor?, _Thor_?, talking to him, calling Loki’s name, moving towards him. Loki instinctively, desperately tries to move away but he is stopped by the wall behind him. And that seems to provoke something to the other man because his faces just shades, Loki just looks at him mild in confusion. 

The man lift his hands gently and for some reason Loki relaxes. The other notices it and again calls his name, moves towards him, and it’s all so gently. The way he’s lowering into the ground with him, and looking at him with something akin to concern, or distress, or–or desperation. And that seems so real, his eyes; one amber-mechanical and the other electrical blue. They’re strange to him, that is true, but they’re also so familiar, Loki recognizes that warm sadness in them like a summer storm. He has known them from all his life.

Thor extends a hand to him and Loki notices he is also trembling. 

This is madness, a voice in his head tells him. 

Loki searches Nebula, she is still there, still looking at him, and she nods.

Loki’s heart pangs and he takes his **brother’s** hand.

He helps him to stand up and there’s more of that gentleness; the way he holds Loki, the way he keeps looking at him, like he is in the presence of something precious to him, something like he thought lost forever.

“Thor?” Loki swallows hard, his body aches, his hands surround Thor’s biceps and squeeze them hard.

“Yes, brother.” He only says.

Loki’s heart contracts painfully and a heavy breath escapes from his lungs. Thor hesitatingly wraps his arms in Loki’s waist and, half desperate and half fearful, brings him closer.

Loki has lost the count, that _is_ madness. But Thor leans closer and Loki can’t help to join their foreheads together.

**.  
.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit more shorter than the others, sorry, it was for the cliffhanger’s sake. But I’ll try to post the next chapter...
> 
> Anyways finally Loki and Thor’s fields have fallen, now they hold their heart in their hands and the cards the cards are on the table. Is this very thing what will finally lead the to ruin?
> 
> .
> 
> (Also I’ve changed last chapter’s name so many, fucking unnecessary times. What can I say? I’m pisces, chaotic neutral and nb, I just can’t decide lmao.  
But I think that one is the definitive title, I really like it bc it gets the concept of the chapter and also it’s a reference to a story I love. A clue: it has something to do with existentialism, mommy issues and catholic robots. lmao)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be updating each week until finished.
> 
> All kudos and comments are appreciated🖤


End file.
